


After the Battle

by CrazyEyedMustafa



Series: Paths Converged [2]
Category: Marathon (Video Games), Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Dialogue, Gen, Test Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23943250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyEyedMustafa/pseuds/CrazyEyedMustafa
Summary: After fighting in the streets of Cipritine for days, Roland wakes up in a hospital room.
Series: Paths Converged [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639288
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	After the Battle

**Author's Note:**

> This is a test fic set in my work, Paths Converged. It is set sometime in Mass Effect 3. I am looking mainly for feedback, and will *probably* delete this later. Thank you.

] . \

\- - - o 0 m

\- = 0 o+

1 / 

\- = 0

_93iko0ir02dik30ikor9_

_Traxus Industries_ _©_

\------------------

_MJOLNIR V.54.1.7_

_DES: RECON_

\------------------

_Welcome!_

_run default setup_

?boot? (y/n)

y

_Error! System data missing!_

?restore backup? (y/n)

y

_searching for backup..._

[1] backup located

_restoring..._

* * *

Something’s off.

He feels heavy. Heavier than before.

The air is off too. He can’t taste it. 

Light leaks into his corneas, causing him to wince. Why is it so bright? Can’t be the sun, the smoke was too thick for any light to break through. Flashlight maybe?

He opens his eyes.

Blue computer screens adorn the wall in front of him. He’s in a bed, the blanket tucked underneath his arms and up to his chest. The sheets are clean, and his armor’s been replaced with a white T. No bullet holes or bits of shrapnel. He feels his chest in disbelief, and is met with the feeling of cold fabric. 

He can hear the soft hum of a fan coming from a vent somewhere in the room, and the electronic clicks from the computers.

A jarring contrast to the hellish landscape he was in moments ago.

How did he get here?

He looks to his left.

There’s another person in the room with him, a human. He’s lying in a bed just like his. Black hair, remarkably clean compared to the bandages peeking out from under the lapel of his shirts collar. He’s facing the window, his face mostly hidden from Roland, but he can still make out the man’s square jaw. One of his arms is in a sling, and Roland can only guess what abuse his roommate had gone through.

There weren’t any humans in Cipritine. None besides him. Roland couldn’t really process how long it’s been since he’s seen another human. Months of living with chiseled and statue looking aliens had made him forget how soft people looked, especially in daylight.

Past him is a room sized window into a saturated world of white on the other side. Looking closer, he can see floating traffic—are those flying cars?—making moving lines across the air above the beautiful blue lake below. A bright sun blooms and glares into the room, covering his roommate’s bed with light. All the while, the only thing he can hear is the white noise sound of a fan, distant traffic on the other side, with the occasional thrum of a passing skycar.

He could be dead. That’s one way to explain where he is.

Oh well. There are far worse places to end up.

Speaking of, where the hell is he? And where’s Sol and her father? Or that turian with the prosthetic arm, for that matter. Did they make it out of the city?

His stomach feels uneasy. The last thing he remembers is everything going bright, and an annihilating heat engulfing his arm. That was after he saw Castis and that soldier practically drag Sol sprint to the evac ship. There were other people on that shuttle, civilians and soldiers alike. 

He never saw it embark.

He looks to his right.

The counter is adorned with medical equipment and computers. A glass pane lets him see what’s on the other side. Medical staff, going left and right. No one takes a minute to breathe, they’re all moving or working on some poor bastard strapped to a stretcher or gurney. An asari jogs past to the right, while speaking hurriedly on her Omni-tool. There’s a pair of doctors arguing near the window, and Roland can see their expressions clearly. 

The two doctors clearly aren’t happy. He can’t tell what they’re arguing about, as everything on the other side is completely muted. He can only try and read their lips. 

Reading lips is not easy as he thought it would be. 

He gives up trying to decipher their words. The male one says something with a step forward to affirm his statement. The female doctor’s expression softens, and she nods. The male one nods back, and he presumes they say farewell before weaving past each other to go in opposite directions. 

That leaves Roland alone yet again. No one on the other side bothers to even take a glance at him. They only rush past with their eyes forward or heads bent down, or they’re too focused on the data pad in their hands.

He’s grateful he can’t hear anything from the other side. The fan is loud enough as is, almost as loud as the air, almost too overwhelming to breathe, thick with sanitation. Too clean. Clearly he’s in a hospital of sorts, but which hospital, and where? It’s too clear outside to be Cipritine—unless he slept through the entire war, which wouldn’t surprise him, but he’s never been that lucky. Leave it to his own suicidal nature to cause him to miss an entire galactic cycle. Besides, Cipritine’s sky isn’t so...curved? 

Wait. Roland squints. Something about it doesn’t look right, but he doesn’t know what. Past a certain distance everything blurs. He blinks his eyes a few times in the hopes his vision would clear, but no such luck. 

Upon trying to get himself upright and get a better view, a previously dormant exhaustion becomes painfully apparent as his own body refuses to budge. He hadn’t realized just how tired he is. Irritably, it makes sense; he’d been running on empty for days, barely spending any time to eat or even sleep. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t slept at all since...well, the night before Reapers arrived. 

His own comfort isn’t helping. The pillow shoved underneath his head is so soft that he’s afraid it’ll absorb his head and suffocate him. The bed isn’t much better. Might as well be a cloud with how soft it is. His skin itches, though. Could be the blanket they have draped on him. Or maybe it’s whatever he’s wearing. He definitely wasn’t wearing that shirt when he put on his armor. 

Of the dozen questions racing through his thoughts, one sticks out from the rest.

How the hell did they take off his armor?

And to add to that: What did they do with it?

It seems he’ll get his answer soon, as the only door in the room slides open, the sounds of footsteps and an intercom slipping through, and someone steps through.

In stark contrast to the man bedridden next to him, the man who walks is far worse on the eyes. The only person who could contest to be uglier is probably Zaeed, Roland thinks to himself. It doesn’t help that the newcomer has an expression like he just smelled Yeti crap. 

He pays no attention to Roland, and continues to his stride to place himself by his roommate’s side.

His voice is fittingly repugnant.

“Major Alenko,” he drawls in an accent Roland’s never heard before. “I was hoping you’d be awake. You’re looking much improved from the last time I saw you.” The Major’s gaze finally pulls from the view outside, and he gives his attention to the man with sudden immediate energy.

“Councilor.” He tries to sit up, but he’s quickly waved down. 

“Don’t bother, Major. I’ll keep it brief. Besides, I’d rather you not worsen any of your injuries.” 

The Major, whose name Roland now knows is Alenko, nods with a grimace. Puzzled, he says, “Okay.”

The Councilor sniffs. “I have other business to attend to, so I won’t beat around the bush: due to your exceptional record and service for the Human race and galaxy as a whole, I’d like to offer you a position as a Spectre.” He scowls.

Spectre? That was that space-cop thing, Roland remembers vaguely from one of the many conversations he had had with Shepard. He recalls her status as one having some significance, and judging by the wide-eyed expression Alenko is wearing, he surmises his memory is correct. 

“You’re serious?”

“I don’t take such matters lightly, Major.” 

Alenko grinds his teeth. From where Roland is lying, he can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He casts his gaze down, before raising it back up to meet with the Councilor’s. 

“What prompted this, Councilor? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

The Councilor snorts in derision, but Alenko either didn’t notice or ignored it. “Our current and only Spectre has her hands full with the war. I need you to carry out important tasks she cannot at the moment.” That confirms two things: there’s still a war going on, and Shepard’s alive. He’s not surprised by the latter; she was gonna find a way off Earth one way or another, and Roland’s come to learn that she’s hard to kill. 

Found that out the hard way, he muses. 

Alenko looks back out the window. “I’m sorry, Councilor. I need some time to think it over. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect in the past few days; I’m not so certain about some things anymore.”

Clearly that wasn’t the answer the Councilor wanted, as his face curls into a sneer behind Alenko’s back, one that Roland can make out. 

“I’d rather not have my time wasted, Major. I will return to you tomorrow in the hopes you have made your mind. I expect you to make the correct decision.” 

“I understand, Councilor.”

The Councilor nods, and turns to leave, but stops halfway as his eyes lock with Roland’s. 

“Major.” 

“Hm?” He turns away from the window. “Yes?”

“Who’s your guest?” 

“Oh.” For the first time since he woke, Alenko looks over at Roland. “No idea. The staff brought him in two days ago. Guess he’s important enough to get the best treatment there is. Must have friends in high places, I guess. He hasn’t moved once.” He chuckles half-heartedly. “Not the best company, but it’s nice to have someone.” 

The Councilor’s cold expression doesn’t change, as he continues to burn a stare into Roland. 

“Hmph,” he grunts. He glances back at Alenko and mutters “Major,” and walks on out, the door sliding shut behind him. 

Silence again, leaving Roland alone with Alenko. 

With incredible effort, Roland turns his neck to look at Alenko, who jumps slightly as he speaks. 

“You said two days?”

The Major relaxes, and tries to give a comforting smile. “Yeah. Thought you’d never wake up.” 

_Same here_. Roland’s neck begins to ache as the cramp grows worse. 

Struggling to speak with the urge to sleep and an aching throat, Roland croaks, “Where am I?”

Alenko looks back out the window. 

“The Citadel. Huerta Memorial.” 

The name sounds vaguely familiar. “The space station?” 

Alenko chuckles, “It’s way more than a space station, pal.” His head turns back to Roland. “You never been here?

“No.” He lifts his hand up to examine the tube going into his wrist. “This a hospital?”

Alenko nods. “Yeah. You were pretty banged up when they brought you in. Doctors must have pulled a miracle, keeping you alive. I’d never seen someone so bruised.” 

Roland ignores his comments, and focuses on the new information. 

The Citadel. The Normandy had never docked here when he was traveling with Shepard. Garrus had told him about the place, as did Kasumi. From what he had gathered, the station was a galactic hub for all of the species in the galaxy. The way it was described, it was the biggest structure in history, larger than any space faring ship ever. 

He remembers thinking that’s for him to judge. 

“Hey.” Alenko was looking out the window again, and his focus is back on Roland. “You said the staff brought me in a few days ago?”

Alenko’s brow furrows, and he coughs, “Yeah. About half a dozen mix of nurses and doctors, I think.” 

“Were there any turians with ‘em?” Seeing Alenko’s confused look, he adds, “Maybe one with a limp?”

Alenko’s eyes widen with clarity. “Yeah, I remember now. There were two of them, hanging in the back. One of them was trying to get in.” He frowns. “Think was a she. And yeah, was missing a leg. Gonna wager they were your friends? Hey, what—Hey!” 

Roland grits his teeth as he forces himself upright. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater. He imagines this is what it would feel like without armor to help. Sluggishly throwing the blanket off, he swings his legs over to the side of the bed, and slides off. His bare feet touch the cold, metal floor, and a chill rushes up his spine, causing him to inhale sharply. 

“Hey, you need to stay put. I saw how much sedative they put in you, you’re in no shape to walk.” 

He looks back at the IV needle sticking out of his wrist, and follows it up to the bag suspended from a pole. No wonder he’s so groggy. They must’ve put enough sedative in him to knock out a Hulk. 

He casually rips it out of his vein, ignoring the sharp sting in response. 

“Hey! I’m serious, you’re going to get yourself—”

But Roland isn’t listening. He takes one step forward, before alarm bells go off in his head as the room swirls around him. He holds on to the raised bed to keep himself from keeling over. 

Right. Sedative. Take it easy. 

Taking careful steps, he walks over to the door, and raises his hand to press the holographic panel centered in between. 

“Nice meeting you,” he says. He’s not really aware of what Alenko is saying, as the noise and rush of air quickly overwhelms him from the other side.


End file.
